This post is an announcement, about a link to a chapter of Happy Hour is for Amateurs which was removed from the final version of the book. This excised piece, an amusing and somewhat lurid story, was built around the elements of an earlier website piece a few long time readers will recognize, re-purposed to fit the narrative of the book. It was included in early versions, but pulled from the later editions.
Why? Happy Hour was intended to be read quickly. Despite my wordiness here, I’ve always held to the notion a book should never go over 250 pages, 300 tops.* And there’s only so much ridiculous material you can slam into a reader’s head. Still, looking back over this chapter, I realize it’s more than just a pile of decadent jokes. It fleshes out a moment many urban professionals experience… That fulcrum in a career where you realize you’re letting the job take over your mind and you don’t like the caricature you’re becoming, but at the same time you see no escape, and so you figure, “Why not embrace it? Let it define me.” There’s a stage in many lawyers’ careers where they assume the preposterous “shark” image, with all its embarrassing affectations. For some it drags on for decades, in many cases their entire working lives. Thankfully mine was brief, and this piece neatly describes its comic stupidity.
Rather than add it as a bonus to some future expanded version of the book, I’ve decided to simply give the text away. But it’s not entirely free. We’re doing a Stephen Colbert-like marketing thing with it. I’ve a link to the piece’s location I’ll provide to anyone who asks. The only thing I request in exchange is that you post something, anywhere, discussing or plugging Happy Hour. A review on Goodreads, Amazon or Shelfari, a plug on Facebook, a Tweet or mention of it (or the site) on Yelp, Fark or any bulletin board on which you regularly post.
Obviously, if you’re doing this, you liked the book. The only thing I’d ask is that you comment fairly. Don’t compare it to Ulysses (unless you’re being absurdist or sarcastic, in which case, swing for the fences).
Once you’ve done this, send a request through the direct messaging portal of the Philalawyer Facebook or Twitter account and you’ll get the link.** I’d prefer not to do the exchange through the website unless absolutely necessary, as it’s clumsy and already has a monstrous backlog of correspondence.*** (If you don’t have a real or anonymous Facebook or Twitter account, it takes all of two minutes to set one up.)
I should have the first installment of the next serial up next week. Thanks for the patience, thanks for reading as always, and a Happy Hanukkah and early Merry Christmas to you and your families.
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* They’re often thickened to justify the $20.00 – $35.00 price point for most hardcovers. A large number of predictable consumers view density as a sign they’re getting their money’s worth.
** Allow a few hours for response, particularly after 5:00 PST, after which responses may not be provided until the next morning. No need to provide a link to what you wrote. I’ll take you at your word. And, of course, if you already did this in the past, just ask for the link.
*** To the crowd of people sending me “What should I do? I’m graduating, there are no jobs, and I can’t think of any path other than law school” emails, I’m not ignoring you. I will condense the posts I have written on that subject into a mega-primer at some point. In the interim, here, read these:
Why the current labor market might be a blessing in disguise for new graduates.
Why a semi-smart slacker should never go to law school as a default career choice.
